


Three's a Crowd

by toomuchplor



Series: Alien Biology [2]
Category: Smallville
Genre: Humor, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-03-04
Updated: 2005-03-04
Packaged: 2017-11-01 11:47:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/356390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/toomuchplor/pseuds/toomuchplor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>mecurtin wanted alien biology, based on an LJ icon.  The title says it all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Three's a Crowd

~1999~ 

It was like a brilliant photographic flash behind his eyes, the sense of shock that Clark felt that day in seventh grade health class. The photocopied, unlabelled diagram lay before him on the desk, seemingly innocent and unproblematic, but every time Clark blinked, it still showed the same thing -- the black outline of a line-diagram penis, the cut-away view of the scrotum, and two -- _two_ \-- perfectly oval, vaguely snail-like gonads. 

The susurrus from the surrounding students gradually drew Clark's attention, and then somehow he was trying to pick individual comments out of the auditory blur of giggles and jokes. If he could only hear one boy's voice saying the words, echoing his fears, all would be right with the world again, this vertigo would subside and it would be the sort of thing Clark remembered privately with a flush of embarrassment, nothing more. 

But no one was saying it. Clark felt the words against his teeth, felt his whole body shivering with worry, but he was unable to find a phrase. How would Keith Grenham say it? He was the coolest kid in the class and everything he said, no matter how strange, always made everyone laugh or nod or smile. He would probably just say, "Hey, they left off one nut in this," and they would all indulgently giggle. Clark didn't have that gift of speech. Everything he said came out angular and awkward, even the simplest greeting or the easiest of sentiments. 

And so Clark stayed silent and miserable as the teacher began to speak, his casual words utterly leveling any remaining hope in Clark's breast. "The human male has two testes, singular Test Eye-Ess, notice. Each of these--" And all else was meaningless sound. Clark felt the flush fading from his face, felt himself getting paler. He needed to talk to his parents. Now. 

~2001~ 

When Clark looked back, two years later, and tried to name Times They Should Have Said Something, this day was always foremost on his list, right up there with the day that Clark blew a hole in his dresser when he was masturbating, the time he bit the tines off of his fork, and the day he saw E.T. for the first time and screamed his way through the scenes with the scientists studying the alien. 

But when Clark had at last managed his tortured confession the evening after that fateful health class, the Kents had had precisely two reactions. First, Martha left the room and Jonathan made Clark show him the mysterious third nut, which Jonathan handled with the same brusque but oddly delicate motions he used on their bull, Henry. Secondly, after a whispered consultation, the Kents told Clark that he was special and that he shouldn't worry. "Tell us if it gets...bigger," concluded Jonathan, and that was the last word spoken on the subject of the superfluous testicle. 

And Clark tried to forget too. After a few weeks' worried obsession, where Clark made frequent trips to the bathroom to see if the third testicle had shrunk away at all, he forced himself to stop thinking about it. After all, what difference did it make? Wouldn't it have been much worse to discover he was short of gonads rather than find himself with a surplus? And didn't it make him that much more manly -- if a little freakish? Besides, what was one extra testicle when compared with weird strength and speed? 

These were the arguments that he used, trying to convince himself to stop worrying, but in the end, the only thing that worked was a complete and utter avoidance of the area. To Clark's mind, if he didn't _feel_ the third testicle -- if he didn't feel any of them, as a matter of fact -- then he could pretend that all was well. He could sort of even pretend that someday he would wake up and find himself back in the digonadic population. He could pretend that he would never have to face any awkward questions from anyone -- any girl -- who might someday have an interest in the exact number of testes in his possession. 

As inane as it seemed, this methodology worked remarkably well. After all, it was a full three days after his parents' disclosure of his alien origins before Clark made the connection. He had just settled back in his bed and was idly reaching into his pajama pants to perform his nightly Lana-worshipping ritual, when it hit him. 

Clark didn't have an extra nut. He had alien nuts. And alien nuts probably came in threes. Clark should just be glad that it was a trio of nuts, and not eyes or ears or maybe even nostrils. At least, with nuts, there was a good chance that anyone who got close enough to count would already be privy to Clark's secret. 

Clark's fingers released their hold on his hardening cock and dipped lower, down to the place Clark hadn't touched for more than three years. In the years since seventh grade, Clark had grown increasingly resistant to pain and injury, but his own alien fingers on his alien balls -- all three of them -- were still breathlessly gentle, because he could certainly hurt himself, even if a human knee to the groin caused him no problem. 

There were still three, it seemed, and they all still felt pretty much equal in size and shape and weight. But now, with a few years of masturbatory experience -- he'd had to get the missile-force ejaculation under control, after all -- Clark was somewhat startled to notice that he really _liked_ this, this delicate massage, the tiny pinch of the soft apricot-like skin between rolling finger and thumb. With his hands-off policy in place all through middle school, he'd never really experimented with this part of himself. Now, with his alienness relieving him of all his worried shame, Clark let his fingers play freely. 

Usually, Clark thought about Lana, about touching Lana or Lana touching him, but in this moment, Clark was consumed by the simple discovery of his own body, its reactions and its textures. He didn't bother actively summoning his favorite fantasies, instead letting the random motions of his fingers call forth thoughts, images. 

Lana on the couch in the loft, wearing that short sundress and letting Clark slip his hand up between those long warm thighs. 

Chloe's breasts that day she wore the low-cut shirt and Clark had seen just the lacy edge of her bright pink bra. 

Lana's chest jouncing around as she urged her horse into a trot. 

Chloe's strawberry lip-gloss kiss in the loft last year. 

Clark was breathing pretty hard now, just from rolling his balls in his fingers, just from this touch, these gentle tugs. He paused, then experimentally squeezed, just a little, tenderly. 

Clark's eyes rolled back in his head as he came, cock untouched, came and came until he was afraid he would die here alone in his bed and his parents would have to explain to the coroner that their kid had killed himself by masturbating too well. 

When Clark finally drifted back into consciousness, he found himself covered with a fine film of perspiration, so that his pajamas were stuck onto his skin all over. His breath was loud, rasping, and his lungs struggled for each exhalation. He was trembling hard and he could hear his heart slamming against his ribs, so fast and so hard that Clark was scared. He'd never been sweaty like this, never breathed like this, never felt his heart like this. 

Not only that, but there was something hot and searing traveling through his veins, like meteor rock but less painful and more tingling, spreading along the myriad channels and roads of his circulatory system. Clark went beyond scared and straight into panic. He wanted to get out of bed, wanted to go and seek help from his parents, but his limbs wouldn't move. He tried to cry out, but he couldn't muster the power. 

He fell into a profound slumber. 

* * *

Clark awoke the next day with a springy, restless energy that wouldn't dissipate. He got all his chores done even faster than usual and shot some hoops for half an hour before breakfast was ready. 

"You're in quite the mood," said his mother when he burst into the kitchen grinning. 

Clark seized a muffin and bit into it, going for the ready-poured glass of milk with the other hand. He sat down at the table, where his dad was poring over the morning edition of the Ledger. Jonathan had already bypassed the Town section -- which was where the comics lived -- so Clark picked it up. 

And proceeded to gape at the picture on the front of the section. 

It was Lex. 

It wasn't strange that Lex would be featured in the Ledger. After all, he was the new plant manager at the town's biggest single place of employment. And though Clark didn't know Lex that well yet, he could guess that Lex would want to look pretty darn good in his publicity shots. But this -- this was -- 

Clark was sitting with his parents, eating breakfast, and he had just sprung the biggest hard-on of his life. He could feel his arousal like heat from an open oven, waving over his skin. 

Lex was leaning against the pool table in his study, arms crossed, smiling just a little, wearing a slinky grey sweater and these tight wool pants which showed off his -- 

This was not happening. 

Clark sped up from the table. "I forgot I had to meet Chloe early at the Torch," he blurted as he made for the door. "See you guys later." 

One mile into a cornfield and two rough strokes later, Clark had his first orgasm while thinking about a guy. 

There was only one explanation for this -- playing with your balls made you gay. 

* * *

It was with great determination that Clark renewed his resolve not to _go there_ , not touch, not think, not feel. He wasn't touching his balls again, and he was not going to let his one slip-up change his entire universe. It was hard enough to get over knowing he was an alien. He wasn't about to readjust his paradigm twice within a week. 

When Clark thought about it, it made sense. He'd felt that weird rush of _something_ after he got off that night, that something that crawled along his veins and made him feel like this. Maybe he'd released some hormone or chemical agent and it had messed with the way Clark's brain worked. Whatever it was, it would surely wear off after a couple of weeks. The change could hardly be permanent. 

But then, when Greg turned into a bug, he hadn't gradually become human again. If anything, the bug inside began to take over more and more. 

That was how Clark felt now -- as though he was possessed by a gay guy and more and more of Clark's own thoughts were being hijacked by this intruder. Watching the football game wasn't about cheering and rooting for the Crows anymore -- it was about studying senior guys' butts in tight pants and trying to resist the compulsion to use his new x-ray vision, for just a _second_. Talking to Lana wasn't about working to make her smile, make her like him -- it was about hearing what she had to say and grasping for the first time that she was more into figuring herself out than doing Clark any favors. And visiting Lex -- 

God. Visiting Lex was like looking at all the gay porn Clark was pretending not to have on his computer at home. It was confusing and exciting and frustrating and hot, and whenever Clark left the mansion, all he could think about was how it would be to touch himself _there_ one more time, to feel that loss of physical control that he'd only ever felt once in his life. He was craving it, the way alcoholics must crave one more drink, and that should have scared him, but instead Clark was almost delighted by this new way of feeling around Lex. 

Because it wasn't like it was with Lana. It wasn't this one-sided fit of longing, Clark's emotions battering against closed doors, Clark pretending he wanted nothing but friendship. With Lex, even though Clark never went farther than shy looks and inviting smiles, he felt like every gesture was reciprocated, multiplied, intensified. Clark wanted to be around Lex all the time, wanted Lex to like him and trust him and rely on him. 

They both termed it 'friendship', but they knew that there was little of a friendship about it. They were too rough with each other's emotions for that. For that matter, they had too much power over each other's emotions. A single downcast glance on Lex's part, a tightened jawline, and Clark would be fighting the urge to apologize on bended knee. 

And later, alone in his bedroom, Clark would think of other ways to apologize that involved getting on his knees. 

~2003~ 

Sometimes, Clark thought that his parents wondered what he'd done, that long lonely summer in Metropolis. They knew well enough what red kryptonite did to him -- Kal didn't scruple about the morality of stealing, of getting tangled up in affairs far above his head -- why should he have hesitated over the third pillar in an adolescent boy's triumvarate of desires? Money, power, and sex. 

"I didn't," Clark had said to his dad, when Jonathan made a hesitant inquiry. 

"I wouldn't," he assured his mother when she ventured a comment a few weeks later. 

"I haven't yet," he admitted to Lex, one rainy bored afternoon in the mansion. 

Lex snorted. "Saving yourself for Lana?" 

Clark flushed, trying to be angry, but really only thinking that he could only be angry with himself, his own fear. That fear was the real reason Clark was still a virgin. God, what if a girl touched him there, found out his difference? Called him a freak, was scared or disgusted? 

And what if it happened again, like it had happened way back in freshman year, and the chemical reaction that had been set in motion then was irreversible, completed, set in genetic reality this time? Clark desperately wanted normalcy -- he craved it the way Lana craved family, the way Chloe sought knowledge, and the way Lex longed for trust. And even high Clark, spun out of his senses on the heat of red K -- even that guy wasn't willing to forfeit his chance to be a regular person, at least in this one respect. 

"Lana and I are over --" Clark began, lamely, even though Lex interrupted him with an amused chuckle. "We can't be together," Clark tried, more loudly this time. Lex only laughed more. "I mean it, Lex. I'm no good for her. And she wants impossible things from me." 

Lex shook his head, the corners of his mouth speaking of his disbelief, but he changed the subject, speaking again. "So, if you're not saving yourself for Lana, why haven't you done it, then? I mean, you've had a few chances, haven't you?" 

This moment was the central pivot point of his ever-circling relationship with Lex -- it was the instant of choice that they had replayed over and over since that day on the riverbank, and always Clark made the same decision. Helplessly, and full of self-disgust, Clark did it one more time. "I don't know," he sighed slowly, averting his gaze. "I guess I'm just not ready." 

Lex didn't even bother to hide his irritation this time around. "I've got a conference call in five minutes," he announced, rising. "See you later, Clark." And he strode out of the library. 

"I've got three nuts and I'm scared that they're making me gay," Clark said to the empty room. 

~2005~ 

Clark was listlessly shading yet another line-diagram of the male genitalia. This time, in senior-level biology, the diagram had more lines requiring labels, more explanations of function, but it still proclaimed the same disconcerting difference. "Double your pleasure, double your fun," he sang quietly, making Chloe snort with suppressed laughter. 

"Inside joke," she explained, when Lana glanced over with a puzzled look. 

Clark had finally submitted to Chloe's urgings and unburdened himself of a secret, but it wasn't the secret Chloe had expected to hear. Come to that, it hadn't quite been the one Clark had intended to tell. He'd meant to tell her some bullshit about the meteor shower, but `Chloe, I'm different,' had somehow morphed into, `Chloe, I think I like boys, too.' 

He'd left out the part about the third testicle, because by now he'd figured out that bisexuality was built into his psychology, not his physiology. 

"I wonder if ovaries are as sensitive as balls," Chloe said, reaching over to draw a smiley face on Clark's diagram's left testicle. "Like, would it feel good if a guy was, you know, rubbing them?" 

"Probably not, since his fingers would be _inside your abdomen_ ," Clark pointed out, decorating the right testicle with a sad face. 

Chloe added a thought balloon that asked, `Who says men aren't sensitive?' "Okay, but if they were outside, like yours," Chloe clarified, and gave the happy testicle fangs, "then would it feel good?" 

"I guess so," Clark shrugged, trying not to remember that one experiment he still hadn't dared to repeat. It was one thing to give equal screen time to his gay porn on his laptop, but that feeling, that overwhelming sense of helpless pleasure...Clark wasn't ready to find out what it could be. It was something inhuman, and that was all he needed to know. 

"Can we stop talking about balls and finish this assignment?" Lana asked, a little exasperated. Chloe had this theory about how sex wasn't funny once you were actually having it, and Clark had to admit, Lana's sense of humor had gone downhill since she and Jason Teague had finally gotten naked together. 

"Would you still call them ovaries if they were outside?" Chloe asked, biting the end of her pencil. "Or would they be, like, testaries?" 

"Ovicles," Clark suggested brightly. 

"Under-ies!" Chloe exclaimed, too loudly, and they both dissolved into laughter while Lana rolled her eyes. 

* * *

Maybe they _were_ ovicles or testaries, Clark thought, running home later. Maybe he wasn't a male at all. Maybe he was some sort of weird androgyne, or hermaphrodite. It might explain his sexual ambivalence, but Clark still found the idea disconcerting. He supposed he could go into the caves and ask Jor-El, but the awkwardness inherent in any parental sex-talk was probably a hundred times worse when your dad was a disembodied asswipe whose primary goal was to make you into a latter-day Alexander the Great. 

When he allowed himself to think about it, Clark knew that the prospect of a lasting virginity was not for him. It was already almost impossible to imagine waiting for a girl -- or guy -- he wanted to be with forever before he disclosed all his secrets, including the one about the aberrant genitalia and the possible existence of ovicles. Clark was eighteen and hormonal as hell, and he...well, he just really wanted to get laid. It would be nice if it could be with someone he loved and trusted and all of that, but frankly, he wasn't quite sure he cared anymore. 

Maybe there was a chance he could just find someone he trusted, set some ground-rules about restricted below-the-belt touching. If it wasn't for Chloe's history of obsession, Clark would have asked her, but that could only end up in bad places. Lana was already reading The Joy of Sex and bookmarking pages for reference (Clark had caught her at it only the other day) and so -- even if she was unattached -- likely to be too bold and experimental. Lois was - complicated. Also, she was exactly the kind of person who would immediately need to know _why_ Clark didn't want her hand there. 

Which left...Lex. 

Lex, who was all kinds of self-directed anguish and torment these days. Lex, who got laid so easily and so often, he couldn't remember faces from month to month. If Lana was experienced, Lex was practically a tenured professor in the college of sexual studies. If Chloe was obsessed, Lex was the founder of the Clark Kent Stalkers' League. And if Lois was complicated, then Lex was labyrinthine. 

So why did Lex feel like a logical choice? 

And why was Clark standing in front of the mansion suddenly? 

"Clark, I haven't seen you around here lately," Lex said, pouring himself a glass of scotch. Twice poisoned by the stuff, so Lex apparently didn't respond to classic conditioning as portrayed by Clark's psych teacher. 

Actually, it was true that Clark had stopped visiting Lex at the mansion. He had been too afraid of what might pop out of his mouth in reply to any one of a hundred leading glances Lex threw his way. 

"Been busy," Clark answered vaguely, because, yes. This was that central pivot point again, and today was providing all sorts of reruns of Clark's big life moments. He wondered for a moment at his utter lack of guilt about lying to Lex, and couldn't decide when he'd stopped feeling shame. 

Lex must have stopped feeling hurt by now, too, which was some consolation. Once, there would have been a tense flicker of annoyance, frustration, but now Lex just took a swallow of scotch and blinked at Clark. "Anything new and exciting in your world?" 

"Senior level bio," Clark exhaled, though he didn't know why. There was nothing new or exciting about the class, after all. "Did you know," Clark said conversationally, "that the human male has two testicles?" It could be a joke. Clark was just beginning to enjoy his own private double entendres, which was good since he'd live in them for the rest of his life. 

"Wow, back in my day, we only got one apiece," Lex returned dryly. "You kids today are spoiled." 

"Well, I really won the lottery, then," Clark smiled. "Turns out I got three." 

Lex's grin was crooked and startled, because Clark's sense of humor wasn't usually this offbeat. Clark grinned back steadily, determined to make Lex laugh about one of the few truths Clark had ever given him, to discount it so that every lie after this would feel a little less like a betrayal. 

Lex started the laugh, broke half of a `ha' out of his mouth, and then his smile froze from the corners, the frost curling inwards until his expression was almost a grimace. 

Oh, shit. 

Shit. 

Clark could feel it, the slipping of that pivot point, the sudden shattering of the circular track they'd been running on since the day they met. It was simply gone, evaporating into the stiff creases at the margins of Lex's mouth. 

It was like seeing Lex for the first time in years, the blueness of his eyes, the stark vulnerable line of his skull, the pale glow of his skin. Clark blinked and even shook his head a little, because everything seemed brighter, more immediate. 

"Three?" Lex said. 

Clark shrugged one shoulder, but he couldn't tear his eyes away from the sight of Lex. 

Lex's brows drew together a little as his smile fell away in pieces. "I...never had that on my list." 

Clark laughed and stopped. "Well, you should add it on," he said. "It's an important fact." 

Lex tilted his head slightly. "Is... is this you, telling me?" 

Clark felt himself frown. "I think so." 

"Could you have picked a weirder way?" Lex asked, seriously. 

Clark gave this some thought. "Probably not." 

Lex hummed an agreement, then seemed to drift into a thoughtful trance. When he snapped his gaze back to Clark's face again, he was more like himself -- in fact, more like himself than he'd been in a long time. "Will you show them to me?" 

* * *

"I think they made me bisexual," Clark said, not sure if he was warning Lex to stay away or encouraging him to come closer. They were naked, stretched out on Lex's bed, both hard and waiting, but this moment apparently had to give precedence to Lex's need to see for himself. "Well, not really. But the one time I - I guess it _activated_ that part of me, or something. It was ... intense." 

So intense that Clark's toes were curling with anticipation as Lex's fingers glided up Clark's inner thigh, heading towards - 

"Ohhhh, fuck," Clark gasped, because it had been way too long and Lex's fingers were warm and gentle. They just stroked at first, then index and thumb tenderly explored, one, two, three, setting Clark's bloodstream buzzing like he had discovered the antidote to kryptonite. "That just feels really good," he confided, and Lex gave a little secretive smile in response, even though his brain must have been recording every moment in scientific detail. 

"Do you want me to stop?" Lex asked. "Is this going to make you gayer?" 

"I hope so," Clark gasped. "Maybe then I would be able to - unh, yeah - dance. Lex, if you stop, I'm going to die." 

"Is that a please?" Lex asked, leaning up on one elbow and giving a slight tug. 

Clark regained use of his facial muscles some time later, opening his eyes to see Lex peering down at him concernedly. 

"You okay?" Lex asked, dropping a kiss onto Clark's numb mouth. "I never saw anyone come for that long." 

"Mnuh," Clark answered. 

"Wow." Clinical interest tempered by soft amazement, and Clark wanted to kiss and touch and reciprocate, had every intention of doing so just as soon as his fingers checked in. "Clark, you're very special. This is a gift." 

Words his parents had used about everything from his preteen bullet-force ejaculation, to his enhanced hearing abilities, to his most recently discovered capacity for willful levitation, but when Lex said them, the words took on a much darker, sexier quality. 

"Wait until you see my heat vision," Clark managed, now that his tongue was working. 

"I think I already did," Lex said, and Clark looked up to see two dark scorch lines on the white ceiling. 

"Huh," Clark said, and fell asleep. 

"Well," he heard Lex saying, as he drifted off. "I guess you can never have too many balls." 


End file.
